~JOYCE~

Holy fucking fuck.

Did Marcus really just ask me to come sit on his lap?

Or was I having one of those crazy, ridiculously realistic wet dreams again—the kind where he fucked me until I woke up sore and limping?

Because there was no way he had actually just said that.

"Come sit," he repeated, tapping his lap again.

My entire body locked up, my fingers digging into the couch cushion as if I needed something to hold on to.

"I should sit where?" I asked, pretending I hadn't heard him the first time.

"On my lap," he repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the...